Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

О Greater Light, we praise Thee f
The eastern light our spires touch
The light that slants upon our wes
The twilight over stagnant pools a
Moon light and star light, owl and

On a summer morning
I sat down
on a hillside
to think about God –
a worthy pastime.

He hears the haunting whistle of t
And the hissing sound of shifting
While he crouched behind a craggy
Amid the wretched and barren waste
Sheltered from blistering rays of

I had a dove, and the sweet dove d
And I have thought it died of gri
O what could it grieve for? Its f
With a silken thread of my own han
Sweet little red feet! Why would

If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.

“you know,” she said, “you were at
the bar so you didn’t see
but I danced with this guy.
we danced and we danced
close.

Tell me, tell me, smiling child,
What the past is like to thee?
“An Autumn evening soft and mild
With a wind that sighs mournfully.
Tell me, what is the present hour?

And the traveller hopes: “Let me
Physician”; and the ports have nam
The citiless, the corroding, the s
And North means to all: “Reject”.
And the great plains are for ever

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

I awakened to dryness and the fern
the potted plants yellow as corn;
my woman was gone
and the empty bottles like bled co
surrounded me with their uselessne